


Fog in the Fens

by Hilarita



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Action/Adventure, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 06:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hilarita/pseuds/Hilarita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya and Napoleon are in Cambridge when a mission goes wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fog in the Fens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [georgiesmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/georgiesmith/gifts).



The fog hung heavily in the badly-lit Cambridge streets. Most people walked or cycled along, not paying much attention to other people, huddled in coats and scarves. They certainly didn't notice two men sat on top of a seventeenth-century building, surveying the passage below. 

One of the men spoke.

"Why are we up here, Napoleon?" He rubbed his hands together as he spoke. "Why couldn't the British team do this? And we didn't come equipped to spend a December night outside. It's not Siberia, but England is still cold at this time of year. And worse, why couldn't we have had some notice of this, and then I could have talked to someone at Caius next door, and then we could be waiting in their nice warm library, and not freezing to death on top of this building."

Napoleon looked up at Illya from under his comma of hair.  
"A masterly summation, my friend. I'm afraid that Mr Waverley did not favour me with much of an explanation, beyond news of a crisis at Aldermaston, and something about Thrush agents from New York making a drop in Cambridge. I do agree that it would have been better had we been able to pick up a coat before we came out here."  
He fell silent again, and stared into the shadows below. It was too dangerous to think about Illya now. He didn't want to get distracted by thoughts of warming his very delectable body. He could think of plenty of ways of doing that. 

Illya hissed. A man on a bike was passing through the passage, barely visible through the fog. But he passed quickly on, not stopping, and the two agents relaxed again. Napoleon tried not to watch as Illya rubbed his hands again.

They strained their eyes at every shadow in the fog. But it was nearly an hour later when they saw a shape cycle in to the passageway, lean their bike against a building, and light a cigarette.

"Looks like a drop," said Napooleon. "Why else would you stop there for a cigarette?"

"Yes," breathed Illya, right behind him. Napoleon shuddered, not entirely because of the cold. 

Their wait was soon over. A small motorcycle putt-putted up (Illya muttered something about the traffic laws), and the smoking person handed in a package. 

"Got it!" said Napoleon. "Let's go."

Illya leapt over the parapet of the building, and was soon shimmying down a drain-pipe. Napoleon followed more gingerly. Illya raced across the grass and leapt into the car they'd parked up earlier. He hung back for a couple of seconds, then followed the motorbike up the road.

"I hope he doesn't turn his lights off. We'd never find him in this."

It was a strange chase, Napoleon mused. It wasn't that fast, because you couldn't even see the side of the road. It was fortunate Illya knew his way round.   
The fog got even thicker as they headed out to the east. Nothing else was moving. Illya peered out through the windscreen, gaze fixed on the scooter.

"He's pulling over." Illya did the same. Napoleon saw a car, silhouetted in the beam of the scooter's headlamp. Then Illya hit a patch of black ice, and it all went to hell.

Illya leapt out of the driver's seat and fell onto the courier, knocking the package out of his hands. Napoleon dived out of the other side, and their car crashed into the Thrush car. Both cars slid into the ditch with sounds of screeching metal and a tremendous splash.

The Thrush pair had their guns out, and were firing randomly. It was very hard to see now, as the car headlights were only illuminating black water, and the scooter's light was pointing away from them. Napoleon started shooting, if only to distract them. Illya dived to the ground, and yelled, "Got it!"

Then they had the package, and were racing away across the fens, trying to avoid ditches by guesswork and panic.

"Napoleon! We've got to get to the road!"

"Why? They'll be looking for us on the road."

"I know. But I'm bleeding. Quite a bit. One of them must have managed to shoot straight."

"No. We'll find somewhere to hole up, and call in. They'll be able to get a fix on us and pick us up." He kept his voice fairly level, no sign of panic there. This was an unholy mess - no proper plans, no equipment, hostile Thrushies after them, and an injured partner. It didn't help that the fens were eerily silent - no cars out in the murk, only a few birds.   
He dropped back a bit, and had a look at Illya. He couldn't see his face, but he was gripping his upper arm tightly. 

"Come on, ol' buddy. We'll hole up under this hedge, as East Anglia doesn't seem to be able to provide us with a hotel room at present. We can tell each other ghost stories until we can get a pick up."

"All right Napoleon. I'll do my very best M R James impression."

"Who was he?"

"He was a Cambridge don, who wrote ghost stories. Some of them were set in East Anglia. Very atmospheric." Illya's voice was strained.

Napoleon put his arms round Illya's shoulder, and lowered him into the lee of the hedge. He got out his communicator.

"Glad to see this survived intact. Open Channel D. Priority alpha: we need a trace on this location, and a pick-up. Illya's been shot. I'll try to patch him up, but we've got no transport."

He got a reply from one of the girls, but he didn't register which one. He took off his tie. Tenderly, he prised Illya's hand away from the wound, and wrapped his tie round it.

Illya looked up. "Thanks, Napoleon." He stared off into the distance, trying not to make too much noise, in case it brought the Thrushies down on them. They couldn't hear anything, but they couldn't see anything either. 

"No problem, buddy. I'm here." He hated to see Illya like this, but he couldn't say anything. Why destroy a beautiful relationship with over-solicitude? He let Illya lean back against him for warmth, and kept talking.

"You didn't get fogs like this where I grew up. It really spooked me out when I first met foggy weather."

"Lucky Napoleon. Freezing fog is such a treat."

"I do prefer a sunny beach, anytime. Maybe we can persuade Mr Waverley to let us go on holiday to Florida after this."

"No chance. He remembers your last expenses report."

"That's a libel. Anyway, we were trying to infiltrate a millionaire's club. We couldn't drive up in a pick-up truck."

Illya fell silent, and gripped his hand tightly. Napoleon would take this moment, imperfect though it was. Illya was here with him, and they'd be OK.

**Author's Note:**

> Illya just didn't want to admit his feelings for Napoleon, so I'm afraid that Napoleon has to keep his longings to himself. They much preferred running round the countryside.


End file.
